


Underestimation

by ActiveAgression



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: #YOLO, Character Death, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing, fake ah crew universe, no Fake AH Crew, references to songs i'm ashamed of knowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActiveAgression/pseuds/ActiveAgression
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray may look like the ever innocent, vulnerable type but he's hiding something big... it's a pink sniper rifle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ray

**Author's Note:**

> And this is the other fic inspired by my misheard lyrics of 'Sedated' by Hozier, 'You and I, Mercs in love' and all that. I apologise if i ruin that song for anyone.

It’s been eight years since Ray watched a name appear spontaneously on the soft inside of his left wrist. 

The writing’s brown, an unusual colour for soul names, and delicate and he wonders briefly who would write their name over his skin with that level of care, he wonders what sort of person his soulmate could be. 

Then he takes aim and shoots a boy only a year older than himself through the head and decides not to give a fuck. His eyes may flutter down to the name briefly as the boy falls to the ground and blood pools in his eye sockets, just to be sure the name is still there because he may not give a fuck about finding them but he’d be damn pissed if he shot them… maybe. 

He already knows the name will still be there when he looks down at it though; knows because he can see the guy’s soulmate’s wide horrified eyes from up here, his arm reaching out for the life that’s no longer there.  
He also knows because he’s good at his job, he read the kid’s file and did his research before it came to this: small time British hacker, teamed up with an explosive expert (Code name: Mogar) to wreck havoc on the shit hole known as Los Santos. 

He knows for sure, before he even looks at his wrist, that the name is still there because the body lying down in the street’s called ‘Gavin Free’ not the Ryan Haywood that scrawls pleasantly over Ray’s skin. 

He knows, but he checks anyway… just in case. 

 

Now at age 26, Ray sets up camp on the top of an obnoxiously tall building that doubles as both a law firm and a fantastic sandwich shop. Neither are why he’s here; ‘though…’ he thinks as he takes a crunching bite out of his recently acquired sandwich, ‘it is a bonus’. 

The real reason the building is his brief campsite is actually because of the building opposite it; the building housing his target and by association, twelve thousand dollars.  
Hell, that’s a lot of money for a job. That’s enough money to pay for his crappy flat for a couple of decades. He could move into a better flat even. 

Normal hits earned him maybe a couple thousand if he was lucky and everyone in his building knows he’d suck dick for a twenty so he’d jumped on this hit like it had a ten-inch dick. He also needs to get laid… if that wasn’t obvious, because despite everyone in his building knowing it – no one really ever takes him up on his $20 offer. 

He brings up his sniper rifle to aim at the apartment window of his target, looks through the sight and sees some dick in a fucking skull mask literally decapitate Ray’s twelve thousand dollars before stalking out the door, severed head shoved into a bag that Ray hopes will be trashed afterwards… or at least washed. 

‘What a fuckface,’ Ray thinks childishly, eyes automatically flicking to his sleeve covered wrist before he forces them away and briefly considers sniping the guy as he leaves, out of spite and immaturity. 

He doesn’t end up doing it despite being all for immaturity and spite; the angles all wrong and it’s effort and to be honest, the skull mask is kind of putting him off because the guy really is intimidating… 

And Ray hardly ever finds people intimidating. He’s been held captive by the fucking Mexican drug cartel and the severely disturbed man they’d assigned to torture him hadn’t even been all that intimidating. 

This guy though, there’s just something about his mask - something about him - that gives Ray pause. His fingers twitch against the trigger, his heart thumps and his wrist fucking burns like it’s been caught in ice for too long. Ray can’t pull the trigger… and he doesn’t really know why. Not really. 

Intimidation is definitely a factor. Ray often laughs at those intimidating sorts - well aware of how much they work to get it, how much effort they put into it - while he himself accepted his scrawny Puerto Rican teenager look wasn’t scaring anyone and fucking works with it. No mask will make him intimidating, but a hot pink sniper rifle and innocence in his eyes makes him underestimated. 

He has the element of surprise mother fuckers. 

The thing about this guy though, skull mask and all, is that he’s genuinely frightening. He wouldn’t even need the mask, the severance of Ray’s target’s head accomplishes ‘scary!’ just fine.  
So Ray watches the guy leave through his sight, intimidated even as his jaw clenches at his inability to just shoot the guy. 

He’s never had this problem before. 

The next time he sees scary skull mask, the guy is once again trying to steal his kill and his money. Ray can’t refrain from humming ‘gold digger’ as he sets up his shot and headshots his target just as skull face is swinging his fucking machete round.  
It’s immature and a sniper’s ‘fuck you’ to skull guy and, after a brief wrist check, Ray’s smirking as he goes to leave but one last glance down the scope shows skull mask is staring straight at him.  
Ray startles and whips around to press his back to the ledge of the building. 

There is no fucking way that guy knows where Ray is. 

There is absolutely no way of pinpointing through bullet angles and even less way that skull guy can simply see Ray - from thirty buildings away. It’d felt like those eyes had bored through to his soul though.  
Ray peers back over the ledge, using his own two eyes and his thick glasses this time and he can barely even make out the window, it’s so far away.  
Unclipping his scope, he uses it once more to see through the window and skull mask is still staring him down like he knows exactly where Ray is… which is impossible but it’s happening. 

Ray packs up quickly, switching to humming ‘Not Afraid’ as he tries to convince himself that he’s slithering across the roof for any reason other then fear. He’s not scared at all. Nope.  
All the same, it seems sensible to never get up ever again… and to get the fuck outta there. Not because he’s scared or anything… cause he’s not. 

Ray’s ridiculously tired the next day. He’d stayed up practically all night adding new safety measures to his still crappy apartment. It may not be the nicest room ever, but it is the safest now. 

He leaves cautiously mid afternoon, glancing down the street both ways before he exits and not deafening himself with music for once. He wants to be extra aware today, just in case. 

It’s when he’s at the grocery store and hasn’t yet had to pull out any of the weapons hidden on his person that he lets out the breath it feels like he’s been holding since the dead eyed stare down from yesterday. 

It’s not all masked guy though.  
He brings weapons with him everywhere anyway. It’s precautionary, he is in Los Santos after all. Even without masked men, muggings and murder happen all too frequently and he knows he looks like quite the easy target: small in his oversized purple hoodie and vulnerable behind his soft dark eyes. 

So he remains prepared even as he tries to determine the best avocado. 

He remains prepared as he slings the shopping bags into his backpack and he remains prepared as he begins his short walk home. 

Halfway there he feels eyes fixed on him and pretends not to notice, gripping his sadly not pink handgun tightly in his hoodie’s large pocket. 

He’s prepared when he get’s pulled into an alleyway, up until he turns around to find himself face to face with skull mask guy… Fuck. 

His hand remains fixed around the gun but he doesn’t reveal it yet, mind reeling from the fact that skull guy managed to fucking find him - even with all the precautions. He’d made Joel swear not to tell anyone about him if he was asked, and who the hell else knows about him? 

No one does. But somehow skull guy found him - unless skull guy doesn’t actually know Ray is the same sniper that took his kill yesterday and it’s all a coincidence… Yeah fucking right! 

Ray decides to play dumb anyway. 

“Woah!” He exaggerates, curling in on himself a little - to further hide his pistol and to seem smaller than he already is - and steps back.  
“You can have my money man, no need for any trouble,” he stutters as he throws his fake wallet badly with his free hand. 

The guy actually manages to pluck it from the air despite the throw and he flicks it open, at which point Ray realises he’d thrown his actual wallet and not the fake one he had meant to. He knows it’s the real one because he can see the neon orange writing on the front, the writing that says, “I’m not gay but $20 is $20.” For the first time in his life he regrets buying it. 

“Ray Narvaez Jr,” masked guy murmurs so quietly Ray barely hears it and then his wallet is being handed back, money and all and he takes his hand off his gun to grab it in surprise. 

“What?” he asks dumbly and watches, perplexed as the other guy draws something out of his pocket and holds it out to him. Upon inspection it looks like a twenty-dollar note. 

“What?” he asks again and then his phone starts ringing. ‘Michael’s dead,’ he decides as he fumbles it out of his pocket to the tone of ‘Me so horny,’ by the 2 live crew.  
This is just what he gets for letting Michael set his own ringtone. 

“What?” he asks, wanting to sound angrier but he has never been able to be mad at Michael ever since he found out the name that used to reside on the redhead’s wrist was, ‘Gavin Free’. He hadn’t been sure why the name sounded so familiar for a second and then it clicked and he’d remembered the red curls of the boy reaching out to Gavin as he’d slumped to the floor. He’d never been able to tell him. 

“You’re missing game night fucker!” Michael shouts at him and Ray knows it’s audible to the masked man, who’s taken to watching him with a sort of amused air?… Ray isn’t really sure at all what the guy’s feeling with the mask and all but hopes it’s amused. 

“This – uh – this isn’t really the best time Michael.” 

“What’s more important than me?” Michael grouses, sounding pouty already. 

Ray improvises with it, pulling out movie references like a pro,  
“We are talking about the greater good!” he yells into the phone, smiling awkwardly at masked guy. 

Michael catches on immediately.  
“’Greater good?’ I am your wife! I’m the greatest good you are ever gonna get!” He can hear Michael cackling happily in the background and manages a halfhearted chuckle of his own, still painfully aware of creepy mask guy staring at him. 

“I’ll be on later,” Ray says and knows Michael’s smiling when he says,  
“I’m divorcing you… just so you know.”

Ray laughs and hangs up, awkward now in the silence of the alley. 

The other guy is still holding a twenty-dollar note out towards him that he knows was not in the wallet he handed over. 

“What?” he asks and the masked guy seems oddly disappointed in him but he’s still holding out the twenty like it’s Ray’s so Ray hesitantly plucks it from his hand and stuffs it in the deep pocket of his jeans. 

Masked guy says nothing and continues to stare at him, almost as if he’s expecting something.  
Ray has no idea what though so he just laughs uneasily and starts backing away, out of the alley, “this has been great but I’m gonna just go…” he trails off, smiling cautiously at mask guy.  
There’s no guns aimed in his direction or anything so he assumes he’s safe to go free and the moment he gets to the street again, he books it all the way to his apartment and locks himself in, barricading the door. 

“What the everlasting fuck…” he mutters, trying to slow his racing heart as he sinks to the couch and automatically sets up for a calming round of Halo. 

Michael may laugh at him as he freaks out about the masked man in the alley, probably because he’s neglecting to mention their previous creepy encounters; Michael got out of the crime world after Gavin was killed and believes Ray works as a cashier or some shit.  
He doesn’t need to know the truth, Ray doesn’t want to lose his only friend over the truth so he settles with hiding his guns extra well when Michael’s around and making up bad customer stories to laugh over as they play. 

So he understands that Michael doesn’t realise the full extent of the situation, the full amount of shit he’s in as he regales him with,  
“Right so… I was walking home today right? And I’m like halfway or some shit when this guy just pulls me into an alleyway.”

Michael interjects here with, “did he take your money man?”

And Ray laughs, high and sort of hysterical, “I wish he had! I mean I gave him my freaking wallet and everything… but this guy just opens it, looks at my shit and hands it all back, money and all.”

Michael’s roaring with laughter and Ray can imagine him sitting in his living room, trying to wipe his eyes free of tears from under his glasses with the bottom of his t-shirt as he’s seen Michael do many times before. 

“What happened?” he chokes out, still fully invested in laughing a lung up.

“Well, I like take my wallet right? Cause this guy looks mental as hell and he just… he starts trying to give me twenty dollars…” 

“What?”

“He’s like holding out this twenty dollar note at me like he’s expecting me to take it or something!”

“Did you?” Michael chokes a little and has a coughing fit much to the displeasure of Ray’s headphones, but then he’s fine again and still laughing.

“Well yeah! Some fucking creepy guy in a skull mask wants me to take twenty dollars, I will not argue with that,” Ray laughs himself but stops when he realizes how silent Michael’s gone. 

“Michael?” he asks, worried the connection dropped but it didn’t and Michael says, “yeah. I’m here. Did you say skull mask?”

“Yeah…?” Ray questions, wary of how somber the conversation has gotten within seconds. 

“Was it like… a big guy?” Michael asks, “kind of looks like he could snap someone in two?” 

‘Michael knows skull guy,’ Ray realises.

“...Yeah. He was a pretty big guy.”

“Bro…” Michael whistles and Ray winces because Michael sounds sort of frightened and he’s read Michael’s file, knows Michael’s seen some shit. Hell, he’s motherfucking Mogar; appointed king of big explosions and fucking Mogar sounds worried, sounds scared.  
Michael continues on, something like awe lifting his voice, “You got dragged into an alley by motherfucking Vagabond.”

“Vagabond?” Ray asks, the name unfamiliar.

“Yeah, Vagabond. The Mad King.” (and oh shit! Cause that one’s familiar and brings horrifying crime scene photos and bad reputations to mind). 

The next part is quieter, like Ray’s not supposed to hear it but he just barely does as Michal breathes out, “Ryan fucking Haywood.” And Ray can practically feel his heart stop. 

Fuck.


	2. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted separately as 'getting out of the game and getting shoved back in' but it made more sense to me for it to be chapter 2. This is Michael's perspective from Chapter 1.

Michael’s always known the crime life is a tough life. He’s always known the life he and Gavin have found themselves in is dangerous.   
He’s always known that but he’d never really taken it to heart until he watches Gavin fall to the waterlogged street with a bullet hole between his eyes and a bloody gaping hole where the back of his skull should be.

Michael’s never wanted to see Gavin’s death nor the subsequent slow fade of the stark black writing from his skin but ends up seeing both simultaneously, his inked wrist outstretched towards Gavin as the Brit slumps, golden hair fanning through the air and blood dripping from the hole in his face.   
Michael slides into place, kneeling beside him as he takes the face of his lover in his hands and wishes for a miracle, chants out a stream of ‘Gavin’ as blood soaks into his jeans. 

He scans the rooftops wildly for some sign of the sniper that did this, wondering in the back of his mind if he’ll be next and he sees a head of dark hair disappear behind the ledge of a nondescript office building.   
When he looks back at Gavin, there’s blood pooling against his eyes and trickling down his cheeks like tears. 

Michael holds him close and refuses to let him go even when the ambulance shows up uselessly, even when the cops command him to let go. He keeps holding on to him, desperate to believe Gavin’s still alive but he saw his soul name disappear from his skin, saw his entire life fade away into nothing and he knows Gavin’s gone.   
That doesn’t mean he’ll let him go. 

Three years later, Michael’s out of the crime world and hasn’t let Gavin go. He knows he never will. He knows he’ll never be able to look at his wrist and not imagine ‘Gavin Free’ tattooed into his skin and so he pulls up a picture Gavin had taken of them both when they’d met, stupidly happy with their arms pressed together, showing off their marks. It’s made him cry more times then he can count but that doesn’t stop him from pulling it up all the time regardless. 

He gets Gavin’s name tattooed once more onto his skin, a promise that he will forever remember his soulmate even if the name faded. It’s not as good as the real thing in many ways, the handwriting’s a little off – a little too neat to be Gavin’s – and the black doesn’t seem quite right as if when Gavin’s soul connected with his, it chose to make the name it left behind not quite black - not quite replicable. So Michael’s tattoo isn’t quite right but it is better than the real thing in one way, it’s not going anywhere. 

 

Two and a half years after that, Michael meets Ray in person for the first time. They’ve been gaming together for months since Michael managed to get a lucky headshot on the highest ranked player on the server, Brownman, killing him. 

Not even a minute later Michael’s dead at the hands of the player he just shot and he’s cursing into his mic, convinced this prick is just gonna hunt him down for the rest of the game out of spite.   
He waits to respawn, glowering and yelling as the dickhead t-bags his dead body. Three minutes later, Michael’s still alive and confused. He was so sure ‘Brownman’ was gonna hunt him around the map but he’s not and Michael’s definitely not arguing with that. 

The next morning, Michael wakes up to a friend request from ‘Brownman’ and wracks his brain as to where he’s heard that before.   
He remembers, grins, accepts and sends him a message. 

“You fucking t-bagged me! Who even does that?” 

When he comes back to his computer from pouring himself a bowl of lucky charms he has a message waiting for him. It’s shorter than he expected. 

‘# yolo’

He didn’t know what he expected Ray to look like exactly but this wasn’t it. 

“I expected you to be more…” He trails off gesturing with his hands as he tries to think of the right word.

“Brown?” Ray deadpans, raising an eyebrow at him behind his thick-rimmed glasses. 

“Yeah,” Michael agrees but that’s not just it. He didn’t expect Ray to be adorable... but he is, with soft looking black hair, a thin layer of scruff and an oversized hoodie that hangs off him. He’s not overly short or anything, just one of those people that look small automatically.   
Michael feels the odd need to protect him from the world and wonders if that’s how someone this unthreatening had managed to live this long in Los Santos. He definitely doesn’t look like he can protect himself.   
Michael decides there and then that this little Puerto Rican will be his new best friend. 

He thinks later that maybe he’s trying to find someone to look after, like he’d tried to with Gavin and failed. Half the time when they’re out he expects Ray to just fall to the ground, a bullet between his eyes but he never does. Michael still checks the rooftops just in case. 

A year after they meet Michael considers telling Ray about his past, telling him about all the people he’s killed and all the horrible things he’s done but he doesn’t. It’s not because he doesn’t think Ray can handle it, because Ray definitely could. 

He’d probably just shrug, say something like, “cool story bro” and turn back to Halo. But Michael can’t bring himself to tell Ray, for whatever reason… He thinks maybe he doesn’t want Ray to look at him differently, look at him and instead of seeing a friend or protector, see a criminal. So he never tells Ray. 

That same day he considers it though, Michael does end up revealing a part of his past, probably the most important part – Gavin. 

He’s at Ray’s beating other teams into submission over the Xbox, mostly thanks to Ray, when he pushes his long sleeves up over his elbows and Ray gets shot. Michael frowns at the screen; Ray never gets shot. 

He looks over to Ray and finds Ray already looking at him, or rather at his wrist where the words ‘Gavin Free’ stand proudly against his arm. 

Ray looks pale, maybe a little sick even and his dark eyes are wide behind his glasses. It’s an odd reaction and Michael wonders at it for a second, coming to two conclusions he doesn’t like very much; either Ray likes him and is uncomfortable with the thought of a possible lover or perhaps Ray’s own soulmate was not a happy story. 

Regardless Michael tugs his sleeve back down and Ray makes an interesting noise through his teeth. 

“Who…” Ray starts, looking unsure on what to say before shaking his head and turning back to the game. 

“He’s dead,” Michael mutters and Ray glances at him, brow furrowed in confusion but something else has cleared in his expression, something Michael can’t quite identify. Before Ray can ask, Michael’s explaining,

“It’s a tattoo. A copy I guess. I couldn’t really take looking at my wrist and seeing nothing.”

“You met him?” Ray asks but it also sounds off like he already knows the answer and is just asking to keep conversation going. 

“Yeah… He was amazing. Annoying sure, he could talk about nothing for hours but in the end he was exactly right for me. I thought the names had gotten it wrong at first, cause I couldn’t stand him but he grew on me... I guess. I loved him,” Michael says roughly and concentrates on the game in an effort not to tear up. 

“How did he – Oh god. Never mind, you don’t have to answer.” Ray’s clearly horrified by his own questions and looks even smaller as he attempts to disappear into the hoodie entirely. 

“It’s fine. He was shot.”

“Shot?”

“Fucking sniped,” Michael huffs and Ray looks so sad in the light from the tv. 

“Sniped?” He asks faintly. 

“Right? Who even does that?” Michael asks and flashes back to when he asked Ray that all those years ago. #yolo isn’t really the right response for this though. 

“Hope the guy that did it at least got some good money for it. I hope Gavin was worth a lot,” Michael says, anger prevalent in his tone but it’s not all that aggressive. It’s a conversation he’s had with himself many times and he always just ends up feeling exhausted afterwards. 

He slumps back into the couch, the artificial gunfire successfully lulling him to sleep. 

 

It’s game night and Ray still isn’t online which is highly unusual because Ray spends practically all the time he isn’t working online and Ray’s work should definitely be done by now.   
Michael looks out into the streets of Los Santos from his window and is assaulted by visions of little Ray Narvaez Jr being beaten up in some alleyway. 

Michael loads up rocket league to distract himself but it does nothing to stop his worry so he calls Ray, snickering quietly to himself as he always does when he calls Ray, remembering the ringtone Ray’s subjected to.   
It’s what Ray gets for allowing Michael to set his own ring tone. 

The line rings around three times before Ray answers, clipped and breathy like he’s irritated but considering the ringtone, that’s normally the way Ray answers the phone.

“What?” echoes through the phone and Michael decides Ray doesn’t sound like he’s in imminent danger after all. 

“You’re missing game night fucker!” Michael shouts at the phone speaker, hoping Ray’s with someone and he’s being embarrassing right now. 

“This – uh – this isn’t really the best time Michael,” Ray tells him.

“What’s more important then me?” Michael pouts, settling on the couch. 

He expects maybe an apology but what he gets is far better,   
“We are talking about the greater good!” Ray yells and this is why they’re best friends. Cause Incredibles references! Yeah!

“‘Greater good?’ I am your wife! I’m the greatest good you are ever gonna get!” Michael shouts back, adopting his ‘Honey’ voice though he knows his ‘Edna’ impression is better. He hears Ray laugh through his own witchy cackles. 

“I’ll be on later,” Ray says but he doesn’t sound too sure about it. Probably trying to get a hookup… Ray hasn’t mentioned a soulmate still so he assumes Ray’s a casual dater. What a dick though. Ditching him for sex… What a terrible best friend.

“I’m divorcing you… just so you know,” he tells Ray, trying and failing to sound serious.   
Ray just laughs and hangs up, leaving Michael to stare at his phone and feel lonely. 

Michael logs in after his brief half hour toilet break to find Ray’s already playing Halo, so he calls the Puerto Rican over Skype and hops onto the server. 

“You ready to kick some butt?” Michael asks as the call is answered and Ray cheers like always but it sounds weaker then usual. 

“You okay man?” Michael asks as he gets back into the rhythm of the game.

“I guess,” Ray says, “Weird day is all.” Michael grins, he enjoys Ray’s customer stories. 

“Share,” he commands and Ray sighs heavily through the mic but answers him anyway, 

“Right so… I was walking home today right? And I’m like halfway or some shit when this guy just pulls me into an alleyway.”

The amusement leaves Michael instantly and he stiffens where he sits, clenching his fists around the controller.   
“Did he take your money man?” He asks, attempting to be casual. Ray sounds fine about it so maybe this has been happening a lot to Ray and Michael didn’t even notice!? God, he’s meant to be protecting Ray. What if he’d died? Getting past Gavin had been a chore, an absolute nightmare. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Ray died too. 

Ray sounds a little crazy when he laughs and says, “I wish he had! I mean I gave him my freaking wallet and everything… but this guy just opens it, looks at my shit and hands it all back, money and all.”

Michael sits there for a second, picturing Ray walking through an alley, seeing some guy and just passing him his wallet before the guy even does anything. It’s fucking funny. Laughter chokes up and wracks his body, hot tears streaming down his face as in his mind some alleyway guy just looks real weirded out and hands Ray his wallet back. 

He wipes at his eyes with the hem of his shirt, struggling to get underneath his glasses and he takes them off briefly.   
“What happened?” he asks, still laughing as he roughly puts his glasses back on, one handed. 

“Well, I like take my wallet right? Cause this guy looks mental as hell and he just… he starts trying to give me twenty dollars…” 

“What?” Michael asks, seeing poor alleyway guy trying to offer over money, unsure of what’s even happening.

“He’s like holding out this twenty dollar note at me like he’s expecting me to take it or something!”

“Did you?” Michael asks, choking on his laughs and coughing dryly as he reaches for his water. He takes a sip and has a moment of realization as he remembers Ray’s wallet; the wallet with the words, “I’m not gay but $20 is $20” printed into it in neon fucking orange.” What a fucking trip. He goes to tell Ray but Ray’s still talking, 

“Well yeah! Some fucking creepy guy in a skull mask wants me to take twenty dollars, I will not argue with that” 

Suddenly the twenty dollars doesn’t matter and Michael pauses to process because… a skull mask? He remembers a skull mask. He’d worked with Ryan once and woah… never again. He was insane, humming songs as he cut through flesh and sprayed blood over walls. 

“Michael?” Ray asks. Realistically it’s probably not Ryan, there’s probably hundreds of skull masks out there after all… maybe… a hundred in Los Santos though? No… just the one. 

“Yeah. I’m here. Did you say skull mask?” Michael asks, trying to sound a bit more casual.

“Yeah…?” 

“Was it like… a big guy?” Michael asks, “kind of looks like he could snap someone in two?” He really hopes it’s not… even if big isn’t a great visual identifier, he knows it’s what he’d noticed after he’d noticed the fucking skull mask

“Yeah. He was a pretty big guy,” Ray says and Michael cringes, suddenly both elated and surprised Ray’s even alive. Ryan Haywood, god that’s a name that’ll haunt him forever. 

“Bro…” Michael says, trying to keep his fear out of his voice, “You got dragged into an alley by motherfucking Vagabond.”

“Vagabond?” Ray asks and of course Ray doesn’t know that name. It’s stupid of Michael to even say it; he only knows that name because he’d worked with the guy after all. 

“Yeah, Vagabond. The Mad King,” Michael clarifies, knowing Ray will know that one. It’s been in the news enough.   
‘Fuck,’ he thinks as he thinks back on the brief encounter he’d had with ‘The Mad King’. He really lived up to the name. 

“Ryan fucking Haywood,” Michael whispers to himself, covering his mic a little with his hand. How’s he meant to protect Ray from that maniac?   
He has to protect Ray though, for both their sakes. Ray dying would kill him after all. 

‘Looks like it’s time to get back in the game,’ he thinks to himself as he brings up a number he hasn’t looked at for years. Muting his mic, he calls and a familiar voice comes through, 

“Mogar?” it asks because that’s still the only name they have for him. 

“Yeah, Jack? I need everything you have on Ryan Haywood…” 

“The Mad King?” Jack asks and it’s a credit to Jack and Geoff that Jack’s just asking to clarify rather than asking because it’s fucking insane of Michael to be asking. He sounds detached, a little disinterested maybe, like they aren’t discussing one of the world’s best mercenaries. 

“Yeah,” he says, he has to protect Ray. Something in him knows Ryan Haywood won't just let this one go. But neither will Michael. 

Ray doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into but while he won’t be able to handle it, Michael can. 

Michael can fucking protect this one.


	3. Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan gets cute.

Ray’s out on his next job… and it’s going terribly. He’s preoccupied, eyes darting about for skull masks and - well, his soulmate apparently - and he’s passed up several beautiful shots just waiting for a sign or something, fucking anything. His scope’s been empty though, the entire time and finally it’s getting too late. Ray sighs and shoots the poor bastard, going to pack his gun away before, just in his peripherals he catches sight of something black and human shaped.

He turns fully, crouched and defensive and his pistol’s already in his hand. Skull mask - sorry, Ryan fucking Haywood (which can now be the guy’s middle name for all that Ray cares) stares back at him silently from the other side of the roof.

“How long have you been there?” Ray asks and Ryan shrugs. It’s like his whole body ripples with the movement and Ray really gets to see the true mass of this guy in person. Up close he’s massive and muscle bound. He can see the ab definition through the guy’s shirt and is overcome with the urge to push that fabric up and lick over them.

His body’s on board with the idea, jolting forward automatically before Ray catches himself, but with that little movement - Ryan also moved. He’s got his hand just slightly back from where it was before, just the slightest bit behind him and Ray stares at it. Ray had moved, and Ryan had automatically reached for a gun.

“You gonna shoot me?” Ray asks, flicking his gaze back up to the mask. Ryan shakes his head but his hand doesn’t move.

“What about in the future,” Ray asks, “when you decide I know too much?”

“What do you know?” The voice isn’t quite as deep as Ray imagined but still deep and throaty and the muffling of the mask only serves to make it seem more dangerous.

“Ryan Haywood,” Ray mutters, only just loud enough to be heard. Ryan tenses visibly, hands clenching and Ray thinks he can hear the leather of his gloves protesting the movement.

“You’re on my wrist.”

“Unfortunately,” Ryan says and his eyes look so blue through the sockets of his mask.

 

Ray doesn’t expect to feel hurt at that, but he does. He goes to answer, probably something like ‘well, fuck you too’ but then his phone starts up Michael’s obnoxious ringtone again. He holds up a finger in the international symbol for ‘give me a fucking minute’ and fumbles it out of his pocket.

“What?” He answers impatiently, still watching that hand - just in case it shifts. He knows though, not quite in the back of his mind, that if Ryan fucking Haywood wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

“Where are you?” Michael asks and he sounds oddly worried, oddly because it’s sort of calm, like he’s trying to hide his worry.

“At work.”

“Huh,” Michael says, in that tone that everyone uses when they don’t believe someone else, “that’s funny - cause i’m there right now and I don’t see you.”

Oh fuck.

“I’m out back,” Ray tries, and Michael scoffs.

“I already asked if you were in…”

Oh fuck yes! Ryan continues to stare at him. He’s being pretty patient to be honest, even as Ray has his little freak out and then his big freak out and well… now he’s feeling pretty calm actually.

“... and apparently you don’t work today,” Michael finishes and Ray is so so glad that he bribed those workers all those years ago - ‘if anyone ever comes in looking for Ray, just tell them he’s not working today…’

“Okay, so maybe I lied,” Ray admits.

“Okay,” Michael copies, “then where the fuck are you?”

He actually sounds pretty angry, which is weird because Michael never gets mad at Ray - not really. Not like he does with everyone else at least where there’s yelling and raging and sometimes violent bouts of punching.

Ray looks up from the hands for just a second, forgetting about the mask - forgetting that he can’t read what Ryan’s thinking.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business…” he replies and can practically hear the noisy exhale as Michael gears himself up for a big rant.

“Sex,” he mutters before Michael can begin.

“... what?”

“I’m _trying_ to have sex right now, if you don’t mind,” Ray hisses and Ryan cocks his head slightly, obviously amused or at least wondering what the fuck Ray’s even on about. Ray wonders that too.

Michael’s silent for a long while, “sorry man,” he finally acquiesces, “i’ll talk to you later.” And then he’s gone and when Ray puts the phone back in his pocket, he also pulls out his own pistol. By the time it’s pointing at Ryan, Ryan has his trained on Ray.

“This isn’t necessary,” Ryan comments.

“You’re the twitchy one.”

“And you’re the one trying to have sex… apparently.”

Ray glares, tightens his hold on the grip and glares even harder. “And?” he growls.

“... and I can be accommodating,” Ryan says and Ray doesn’t get it, doesn’t get it some more until his brain pieces together their conversation like a puzzle, or more like a timeline, and suddenly - he gets it.

“Oh,” he breathes, “that was just an excuse so Mi-Mogar would back off.”

Ryan regards him for moments in silence, probably trying to determine where he’s heard Mogar before. (Then probably linking the ringtones he’s heard together and Ray isn’t sure if he used Michael’s name last time but if he had, he’s also just given Ryan, Mogar’s real name… like an idiot.) Ray thinks maybe he’ll bring it up but he doesn’t. Instead, “it doesn’t have to be an excuse,” Ryan offers, and as Ray goes to object, “I can tell you want it.”

“Want it?” Ray scoffs, trying to pretend Ryan sounds more like a teenager trying to pressure his prom date into sex rather than ‘fucking hot as hell, holy shit’.

“Want me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ray snarls, “I want anyone with a dick attached - and don’t think this whole standoff thing is doing it for me.”

“Isn’t it?” Ryan asks, a whole octave lower and Ray thinks he can feel the reverberation of his voice through his dick. To make up for it, he raises his gun higher to point squarely at that bloody skull mask.

“No.”

“What about my name on your wrist? Does that do it for you?”

Ray grits his teeth against the urge to look away from Ryan and back at his wrist because it’s there. Right there; the proof that the man before him is his soulmate and it really does do something for Ray. He’d never thought it would, never cared before but now he does.

“Does it do it for you?” Ray counters, partially trying to avoid the question but also trying to determine if his name is even on Ryan’s wrist. It doesn’t always go both ways after all.

“Yes,” Ryan murmurs, “it does.”

He doesn’t sound offended by the idea of it so much as he sounds… genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected his soulmark to affect him at all. Him and me both, Ray thinks but knows behind all the denial, the words always affected him - the glances down at it after killing someone just to make sure - shit, it was always affecting him.

Ray finally decides not to answer, not sure what to say and perfectly content on the stare down over the solid metal of guns.

“It is Ryan Haywood then?” Ryan asks, kind of out of the blue cause didn’t Ray already answer this?

“Yeah.”

“Not James,” Ryan says and it sort of sounds like a question but mostly not so Ray figures Ryan already knows.

“James?”

Ryan hums like he’s agreeing then stills. Ray realises and freezes in much the same way.

“You just gave me your proper name?”

“Well... technically.”

He doesn’t sound too happy about it and Ray thinks that maybe Ryan had just been trying to fill the awkward silence and hadn’t thought it through all the way.

“Why Ryan then?” he asks lightly, trying not to tread into information that’ll get him killed. The name itself is liable to get him killed, whether by Ryan or by Ryan’s enemies, he’s not sure. Either way it’s sure to suck.

“It’s my middle name-- look, do you want to or not because I can think of a hundred other things I could be killing right now.”

“Want to what?.. Want to have sex with you! I don’t even know you! No!”

Ryan sighs heavily, amplified in sound as it sweeps over the inside of his mask, “fine. A date then,” he suggests.

“A date?”

“A date,” Ryan confirms.

“A date,” Ray parrots back, deadpan.

“Yes. A date.”

“A fucking date?”

Ray’s not entirely sure, but he thinks Ryan’s taken to just glaring at him; his mask looks vaguely less happy… maybe?

A date though? What the shit.

“I - uh - fucking sure. But like- no guns… or knives! Weapons of any kind really… And no mask.”

Blue eyes fly up at that, locking on his own - intense. “Mask stays.”

“Not if you want this date, it isn’t,” Ray argues, wondering even as he’s talking how the hell it came to this… having dinner or some shit with a psychopath who may or may not just be out to murder him. Why the fuck is he agreeing to this?

“... fine, but I choose where we go,” Ryan concedes, albeit unhappily.

“Fucking fine. I assume you have my number,” Ray growls, lowering his pistol and packing up his stuff with practiced urgency. He turns then, “text me the details. I see a glimpse of mask though and i’m gone.”

With that he strides past Ryan to the rooftop door, still slightly ajar. Or rather he intends to. Just as he goes to brush past Ryan though, large, suddenly unarmed hands grab him, pull him around and before he even registers it - Ryan’s kissing him. It’s soft and dry and warm and there’s stubble against his skin - rubbing, scratching, just right, just like he likes it -

Just as suddenly, the kiss is gone and the mask is back in place like it never moved at all.

“Uh huh,” Ray manages shrilly, stumbling off towards the door, heart racing and the taste of peppermint lingering in his mouth.

 

  
  
“Game night?” Michael asks him on the phone two days later and Ray suddenly realises he’s been abandoning his friend duties. Michael never used to _have_ to ask. He feels bad but can’t really do anything about it now. Not with the text sitting almost innocently on his phone screen.

 

‘Tonight. 10. Rogue and Vagabond.’

 

“Date night,” he counters and Michael sighs.

“You’ve never been this busy.”

“Maybe it’s a change then,” Ray suggests, adopting a joking tone in an effort to make Michael a bit less… murderous.

 “I don’t like change,” Michael mutters. He sounds neither murderous nor amused though. He instead sounds sad - and worried. Michael’s never been worried this much. Michael’s never been this clingy either. Ray takes a deep breath and thinks about Gavin in an attempt to stop himself from snapping at Michael.

“It’s just a date. It might not even work out,” he says, worried what will even become of him if it doesn’t work out. God, he’s going out with a literal psychopath.

Michael’s silent for a long moment. “Careful,” he finally says but he sounds upset.

“Always am,” Ray goes to say but Michael’s already hung up.

 

  
  
Ray’s stood outside the Rogue and Vagabond, glaring at the sign. What kind of sick sense of humour is that anyway. They probably know him there. They probably won't even bat an eyelash if Ryan pins him to the table and pulls his guts out like party streamers. Hell, maybe they’d even use them as party streamers.

Fuck, he is not ready for this.

 “Ready?” a deep voice asks from behind him and he curses at letting Ryan sneak up on him.

 “No,” he replies, sullenly. He’s having trouble bringing himself to turn around. What if he’s not wearing the mask? What if he’s super ugly or super creepy. What if he looks like Hannibal Lecter? And not the one from the TV show.

 Ryan takes his lapse in movement as an incentive to push him forwards towards the bar.

 “What the fuck is this anyway?” Ray snaps, a little hysterically.

 “Hmm?”

 “The fucking Rogue and Vagabond? You think you’re funny?”

 Ryan pauses in his bulldozing path. “Why would that be funny?”

 “Yeah. Exactly,” Ray agrees before it clicks. He heard Vagabond from Michael, not Ryan. By all accounts he probably shouldn’t know it, unless he’d worked with Ryan in the past.

 Ryan seizes his arm in a tight grip, “how do you know that name?”

 “What name?” he counters weakly, not even bothering to try and save his arm.

 “Vagabond.”

 Ray sighs and closes his eyes. “Mogar told me,” he admits and Ryan scoffs.

 “You’re an awful mercenary. You just give everyone up.”

 “It’s not like you could even find him anyway,” Ray challenges.

 “I’d just follow you.”

 “I haven’t seen him face to face in two years.”

 Ryan breathes deep in and out for several seconds. “Whatever,” he finally acquiesces and resumes pushing Ray towards the door. 

 

Inside the bar is small and sparsely littered with other customers. Some glance over but none stare. Ryan must’ve actually taken the mask off then.

Ray takes a step forward and turns. Holy fucking shit.

 “Holy fucking shit,” he gasps, because what the holy hell? “Why do you even wear the mask?”

 “Anonymity.”

 “No one wants to kill a face like that,” Ray responds, more to himself than Ryan. He honestly can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ryan’s black attire is gone, replaced with a form fitting soft blue t-shirt that looks so soft Ray wants to climb into it. He may also want to crawl into those abs though - holy crap, the definition. Ryan’s face is fucking classically handsome with stubble and a jawline so majestic. He looks fucking friendly and Ray finds himself more scared by that than anything else.

 “How about you find us a table?” Ryan suggests, already walking over to the bar. Ray beats him to it though.

 “You find a table,” he hisses back, ordering coke because he's cool.

 Ryan raises a (fucking perfect) brow at him and joins him at the bar. “We can sit here if you want?”

 Ray considers it, but for the sake of his wallet and maybe his life he shakes his head.

“I’ll find something,” he mutters, scampering off while Ryan orders something for himself.

 Quickly he googles on his phone, ‘what to do when you’re on a date with someone way hotter than you’ - quickly tacking on ‘and you’re both murderers’ - it yields no answers and he quickly puts his phone away before Ryan arrives at the table.

 “Texting Mogar for help?” Ryan asks, looking entirely unconcerned.

 “If i was, you’d already be dead,” Ray threatens.

 “If you were, he, you and everyone else here would be dead,” Ryan counters and Ray falls silent. How can a guy that looks like that still be threatening?

 They sit in silence for a while - Ray draining his drink and Ryan occasionally and fucking attractively tipping back long sips of beer straight from the bottle.

 Ray finds himself drooling a little and can’t bring himself to feel ashamed.

 

Finally a waitress approaches with a bowl, sets it down and smiles flirtatiously at Ryan.

 “Anything else I can-” She pauses, wide-eyed mid-sentence and walks away. Ryan turns back and Ray expects something terrifying but he looks as normal as he gets. The waitress on the other hand is visibly sobbing behind the bar.

 Ray looks from her back to Ryan and hurriedly looks down as he catches Ryan’s blue - oh so blue - eyes. The bowl registers and-

 “You got curly fries!?” he exclaims, picking one up and wolfing it down immediately. “I fucking love curly fries.”

 “As does most of the populace. It’s what makes them so good to poison,” Ryan mutters darkly and Ray swallows instinctively.

 “What!?”

 Ryan cracks a smile, “kidding.”

 “Hahaha, funny. Holy shit you smile?”

 “Bad?”

 “Nah. No. Not bad. Just - uh - yeah fine. Fuck this date thing. Sex?” Ray manages and Ryan blinks at him slowly. He looks surprised but doesn’t say anything. He simply rises from the table and stares at Ray until it occurs to him to follow suit.

 “Shit hold on,” Ray says, grabbing the curly fries from the bowl with two hands. “Ready.”

 Ryan closes his eyes in a way that inexplicably reminds Ray of his dad when he’d had to deal with Ray doing something stupid. He swallows heavily at the thought and smiles weakly.

 “Still don’t want me on your wrist?” he asks, not sure what he wants out of the answer but prepared for the worst.

Ryan smirks and eyes him playfully, “I may have to reconsider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not know if i'll write more of this. I'm temperamental though. 
> 
> Hope you liked. Hope you kudos and comment and all that.


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